


Stripped

by sciencefictioness



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Except At A Strip Club, Lapdance, M/M, Meet-Cute, Stripper Genji
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:07:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22674562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: “Hey stranger,” he says, voice accented but not heavily so.  He rubs his palm in circles, fingertips easing under the edge of Jesse’s shirt.  “Haven’t seen you here before, what’s your name?”Jesse lays a hand on the small of his back, looking him up and down now.  He’s even prettier up close, long eyelashes and gloss on his lips, just as muscled as all that moving on the pole would suggest.  His hair is wild and damp with sweat, eyes glittering.“Ain’t never been here before.  Name’s Jesse.”Sparrow hums, reaching up to brush some of Jesse’s hair out of his face.“Nice to meet you, Jesse.  I’m Sparrow. You enjoying yourself so far?”Jesse sets his hand on Sparrow’s knee, a very respectable distance away from where he really wants to put it.“I am now,” he says without thinking, and Sparrow laughs brightly, teeth stark white behind his glossy lips.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Genji Shimada
Comments: 17
Kudos: 162





	Stripped

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day three of Mcgenji Week, 'Money Can't Buy Me Love'
> 
> Shoutout to [thereweregiants](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereweregiants/pseuds/thereweregiants) and [crook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedfingers) for tossing ideas at me in discord and making this fic better.
> 
> Y'all enjoy!

The sign flashes bright against the night sky, vivid red and white against a black backdrop. 

_ Blackwatch. _

The skull looks a bit out of place all things considered, but Jesse doesn’t dwell on it.

It’s already late when he pays his entry fee, getting a red bracelet made of paper fastened around his wrist and a speech about club rules. He only half-listens— most places like this are pretty much the same, and he can always ask the dancers what he is and isn’t allowed to do. This club is further away from his place than the one he’s used to, but ever since Sombra left it isn’t the same. 

The other girls are great, but there’s always something missing, and it’s more depressing than Jesse wants to admit. He didn’t have any grand romantic feelings for her, but she was fun to talk to, and there’s no one else who can move quite like she does while still holding a decent conversation. Not that Jesse goes to strip clubs for the conversation, exactly, but he does miss her a little and he definitely doesn’t go there to feel lonely.

Blackwatch is a little fancier than club Talon, which is why Jesse has never been there before now. The cover charge is twice as expensive, and they don’t allow hats, but Jesse figures if it’s not worth the trouble it’s no great loss. He makes decent money, and if he wants to throw it away on beautiful people sitting in his lap and laughing at his bad jokes, he can afford it.

The music is pulsing loudly when he steps into the club, circular tables scattered around the main stage where a woman is spinning languidly on the center pole. Spotlights shift around to follow her, neon flashing here and there. Everything is colored in shades of red and black.

There are other, smaller platforms dotted around the room, dancers occupying those as well. People are clustered around all of them, throwing bills down, some of them getting more personal attention for their trouble. A woman stands near a platform tucking one dollar bills into a dancer’s g-string. A man hovers close to the main stage with a fist full of fives, standing very deliberately still as the dancer slips closer and dances for him, slowly sinking into a split and shaking her ass. 

Jesse heads to the bar and gets a beer, watching the proceedings for long enough to figure out which of the smaller platforms the dancers rotate to after leaving the main stage, then finding himself a seat near it. A woman in clear stilettos and stark white lingerie runs a hand over Jesse’s shoulders not long after he sits down, taking the chair beside him,  _ hey there handsome, would you like a dance? _

He declines as politely as he can, making friendly conversation and slipping a few bills into her garter belt in apology. Jesse  _ will  _ probably want a dance from someone later, but he wants to settle in first, get a feel for the place. She takes his refusal with a smile, running a suggesting palm up his thigh as she gets up to leave,  _ let me know if you change your mind. _

A man takes the main stage next, dark skinned and dressed in nothing but some combat boots, a yellow scarf, and some too-tight briefs; his routine is athletic enough that Jesse feels tired just watching. He looks good doing it, though, and there’s already a bit of a crowd at the next platform when he climbs down from the main stage to dance there.

A server in a speedo and a feather boa offers him another beer, and Jesse accepts it, along with a third a little while later, a pleasant buzz making him loose and relaxed. There are gorgeous men and women everywhere he looks in various stages of undress, writhing artfully on stage or twisting themselves into knots on the smaller platforms. 

Sometimes in between performers there are too many bills on the stage for them to collect easily, so a bouncer comes up the steps with a broom and sweeps them all together, helping the dancers stuff everything into black plastic bucket with ‘Blackwatch’ emblazoned on the side.

Jesse has to decline a handful of offers for private dances— they’re all attractive enough, more skilled than most of the dancers at Talon by far, but no one has jumped out at him yet and he’s content to just drink and pass out tips to anyone who wanders close enough for the most part. 

The music shifts into something faster, bass thudding through the speakers. A man climbs up on the stage, and Jesse sits up a little straighter in his seat to watch. Sparrow, the DJ announces, and Jesse’s mouth goes dry. His hair is a vivid green, even in the strange and stuttering light of the club. It’s hard to pay attention to that at first.

He’s wearing knee-high black leather boots with a stiletto heel, fishnet thigh highs held up with a garter belt. There’s a tattoo visible curling around his thigh, something big and green and intricate Jesse can’t make out in detail. He’s got on… panties. There’s no other word for them, lacy and delicate and barely containing him. Wrapped around his abdomen is something like a corset, but it doesn’t extend up to his chest, where instead there is a bra with far too many straps, some of them criss-crossing over his shoulders.

There’s another tattoo on his arm— a snake, or a dragon, maybe. Something with scales. He’s muscled and lithe, dark liner thick around bright eyes, rings glittering on his fingers. Black nailpolish and snakebite piercings in his bottom lip and Jesse is so entranced it’s almost embarrassing. 

He must have been glancing over the crowd, because when Jesse looks back up at his face, he’s been caught staring. Sparrow winks and blows Jesse a kiss just before the music begins in earnest and he’s twisting around the pole in a way that’s downright dangerous. He spins fast enough that it’s dizzying before dropping face-down on the floor to roll his hips against it, moving sinuously with the music. Jesse can’t look away as he arches from floor, shifts back up to the pole, scaling it and spinning his way down.

It’s acrobatic in a way few of the other performers have pulled off, physically demanding enough that by the end of the song he’s covered in sweat and breathing hard. The stage is littered in bills, and the bouncer climbs up with his broom, bending down after they’re gathered up to help Sparrow shove the money into his bucket.

Sparrow is grinning at him, saying something under his breath before shooting a look out at the audience.

Shooting a look out at Jesse. The bouncer rolls his eyes and disappears back down the steps, and Sparrow makes his way over to the platform closest to Jesse, climbing on top of it to start dancing. It’s nothing as dramatic as his on-stage performance— the smaller platforms are more for tipping and luring customers into private dances than anything else— but he still has all of Jesse’s attention. 

A few patrons come up to slip ones in his thigh highs or boots, standing close so he can dance for them for a few moments before wandering away. He sinks his fingers into their hair and rolls his body against them. Gets on his hands and knees, boots on either side of them as he rocks back until they’re almost touching them rocks forward again. The tattoo on his thigh  _ is  _ a dragon, just like the one on his arm. There’s some sort of kanji tattooed on his throat, as well. Something on the knuckles of one hand, partially hidden under his rings.

He catches Jesse staring a few more times, winking again, running his tongue over his bottom lip. Jesse keeps watching when he switches platforms, making the circuit all the way around the club as dancers take their turns onstage. 

It’s no surprise when he finishes on the last of the platforms and makes a beeline for Jesse, setting his bucket down on the table, bills bursting from the top. Dancers usually make most of their money from private dances, and Jesse has been blatantly interested.

It is a surprise when he sits down directly in Jesse’s lap, one arm around his shoulder, the other palm flat against Jesse’s chest.

“Hey stranger,” he says, voice accented but not heavily so. He rubs his palm in circles, fingertips easing under the edge of Jesse’s shirt. “Haven’t seen you here before, what’s your name?”

Jesse lays a hand on the small of his back, looking him up and down now. He’s even prettier up close, long eyelashes and gloss on his lips, just as muscled as all that moving on the pole would suggest. His hair is wild and damp with sweat, eyes glittering.

“Ain’t never been here before. Name’s Jesse.”

Sparrow hums, reaching up to brush some of Jesse’s hair out of his face.

“Nice to meet you, Jesse. I’m Sparrow. You enjoying yourself so far?”

Jesse sets his hand on Sparrow’s knee, a very respectable distance away from where he really wants to put it. It looks like Sparrow is hard in those little lace panties. Like he enjoys being watched.

“I am now,” he says without thinking, and Sparrow laughs brightly, teeth stark white behind his glossy lips.

“I’m glad,” he says. “You live nearby, or just visiting?”

It’s the same small talk most dancer’s make when they’re trying to get a customer comfortable, but Jesse doesn’t mind. He never shuts the fuck up, as Sombra was always keen to remind him, but everybody knew he was her favorite anyway.

“Mmm, I live pretty close. Thought I’d give this place a shot. How bout you? Been dancing here long?”

Sparrow grins, shifting very deliberately in Jesse’s lap where the rest of his body has taken an active interest in the proceedings.

“Some days it feels longer than others. What do you do for a living, Jesse?”

Jesse eases the hand on Sparrow’s back a little lower, letting it curl around his hip. One of the bouncer’s is watching the two of them closely, but Sparrow doesn’t seem bothered, and there are other customers being far more handsy with the dancers without reproach.

“Personal trainer at a couple of gyms nearby. Mixed martial arts, mostly.” 

They’re Jesse’s gyms technically, or would be if he’d stop arguing with Reinhardt about it, but that doesn’t seem relevant. Sparrow runs his palm down Jesse’s arm, squeezing at his bicep through the fabric. Jesse flexes instinctively, and Sparrow bites his bottom lip.

“Well, Jesse, are you going to let me dance for you?”

Jesse grins back at him, easing his hand from Sparrow’s knee to let it curl over one of his boots.

“Sure am, doll face. Lead the way.”

His face lights up, and he runs a hand over Jesse’s hair like he’s petting a dog.

“Perfect,” Sparrow says, hopping up from Jesse’s lap and grabbing his bucket of cash. He tangles their fingers together and tugs Jesse across the room, past a pair of bouncers and into a back hallway. 

There are doors on either side of the hall in both directions, some of them with red placards dangling from the knobs announcing that they’re occupied. Sparrow heads into the nearest empty room and drags Jesse inside, picking up a placard from the inner knob and hanging on the outside instead. The room is small, really just a booth with a padded seat that spans all three walls and an area of empty floor space in front of it. There are LEDs lining the ceiling overhead, shining red; Sparrow reaches over to a knob on the wall next to the door, and the lights flicker from red, to orange, to yellow, to green. He leaves them like that, setting his bucket on the floor and pushing Jesse down into the booth.

Sparrow takes a moment to reach behind himself, undoing some kind of fastener and taking off the corset wrapped around his stomach, letting it fall to the floor. His abdomen is just as defined as the rest of him; Jesse’s mouth waters.

“Alright Jesse,” Sparrow says as he straddles him, running his hands up Jesse’s chest. “Dances go for the length of a song. Fifty dollars a song, plus whatever tip you think I deserve. Sound fair?” 

Jesse lays his palms on Sparrow’s thighs, feeling the fishnet shift under his fingers.

“Sounds fair to me, sweetheart. Am I allowed to touch you?”

Jesse’s not going to grab a handful of his dick just because they’re behind closed doors, but even the palms on his thighs might be too much, and he doesn’t want to push his luck. Sparrow licks his lips, smirking.

“Within reason. Just don’t try and take my clothes off and we’ll get along fine.” Sparrow glances up towards the ceiling. “Minerva?”

“Hello, Sparrow.” It’s a lilting feminine voice, coming from speakers in the ceiling. There’s a camera there as well, Jesse notices, a red light flashing beside it. 

“Play my song,” Sparrow says, rearranging himself a little in Jesse’s lap. 

Music starts pulsing from the speakers, but Jesse barely notices, because Sparrow is  _ moving. _

He wraps his arms around Jesse’s neck and rolls his hips, grinding down against Jesse with enough force that there’s no way Sparrow can miss just how hard he is in his jeans. It would be more embarrassing if Sparrow wasn’t just as hard, fingers sinking into Jesse’s hair as he writhes on top of him. Jesse can’t help rubbing his palms up and down Sparrow’s thighs as they flex and shift, doing his best not to snag the fishnet. He lifts up higher on his knees, grabbing Jesse’s face and holding it in place as he rubs himself against it. 

It’s an effort not to grab Sparrow’s ass, but Jesse refrains— some dancers don’t mind, but he doesn’t know Sparrow well enough, and he’s not going to be an asshole. He contents himself with petting over his thighs, grabbing the leather stretched over his calves, putting his hands on either side of his waist.

After a minute or so Sparrow stops, dropping down to crouch between Jesse’s feet. He lays his palms on Jesse’s knees and slides them slowly up his thighs, maintaining eye contact the whole time. Sparrow pauses just shy of the bulge in his jeans, cocking his head to the side, brows raised in question. Jesse rocks his hips forward a little, jerking his chin in invitation; Sparrow takes it as permission and slides his palms higher, until he’s rubbing at the swell of Jesse’s cock through the denim. His eyes widen a little, smile going downright devious.

“Fuck’s sake,” he says, lifting up and turning around to sit on Jesse’s lap, thighs wide and ass settled directly over his cock.

Sparrow arches his back, hands on Jesse’s knees as he snaps his hips forward and back. Jesse’s not quite pitiful enough to come in his clothes over a lapdance, but it takes some gritted teeth, grip a little tighter than is polite as he grabs Sparrow’s hips. He swears under his breath, and Sparrow leans back against him, head lolled on Jesse’s shoulder and an arm coming up to wrap around his neck. Sparrow writhes in his lap, clinging to Jesse, both of them breathing hard.

He tucks his face into Jesse as he moves, presses a kiss to his jaw.

Then the song comes to an end, and Sparrow runs his fingers through Jesse’s hair apologetically as he sits up.

“Sorry, handsome,” Sparrow says, moving to stand. “Time’s up.”

Jesse stills him with a hand on his thigh, fingers brushing over the fishnet without restraining him.

“Let’s hear one more song, gorgeous. I got the money if you got the time.”

Sparrow looks over his shoulder with an indulgent grin.

“Minerva, play the next song,” he says, leaning back into Jesse again, trailing his fingers down his cheek.

The music surges up, Sparrow starts moving, and Jesse is a little bit in love.

-

Jesse doesn’t plan to make it a regular thing, but that’s what it becomes. Not every weekend— Jesse teaches classes that run late every other Friday and Saturday, and he’s usually so beat afterwards that all he wants to do is crawl in bed. 

It’s often enough, though. Twice a month at least, more if he’s feeling up to it after work. There are a lot of dancers who he’s friendly with, but he isn’t at Blackwatch for them.

He’s there for Sparrow.

Jesse heads to the club and nurses a beer or two until it’s Sparrow’s turn on stage, then he watches him dance, entranced by the sight. Sparrow wears lingerie; delicate, sometimes, or black with too many straps, some of it accented with the same shade of green as his hair. Black platform combat boots or six-inch stilettos, liner always thick around his eyes, his nails meticulously painted.

When he sees Jesse his gaze lights up, and after he’s through making his rounds on the dancing platforms he comes to find him without fail, climbing into Jesse’s lap and batting his eyelashes. 

_ Hey there handsome, I missed you.  _ Jesse is easy money, and Sparrow damn well knows it.

Jesse doesn’t mind. He always buys a lapdance, usually two, and tips him at least that much over again. At the tables they talk about Jesse’s job, about the music he listens to when he isn’t hanging around strip clubs. About Sparrow’s clothes, or the food he likes, or the video games he’s playing.

The banter is more flirtatious than he used to have with Sombra; even when she danced for him, there was something impersonal about it. She’d be gossiping about the other dancers, or talking shit about her least favorite customers. She told Jesse what he was doing wrong on his taxes, once, when he complained about the software. They ended up hovered over his phone after his lapdance while she finished his return for an extra fifty bucks on her tip.

It isn’t like that with Sparrow.

After a few minutes of talking Sparrow and Jesse head to a private room together. Sparrow climbs into his lap, moving artfully to the music, grinding against Jesse until he’s so hard it hurts. 

There’s no talking going on when Sparrow dances for him. It’s heated, tension thick in the air between them, Jesse’s hands stroking affectionately over his thighs, sliding up his spine, drifting down his biceps. He works out somewhere— martial arts, or some kind of brutal cardio routine— but it feels invasive to ask about it, especially considering what Jesse does for a living. 

Sparrow’s body is a work of art, and not just the way he moves. He’s breathtaking from his carefully maintained musculature to the tattoos on his skin. Beautiful clothes and vivid green hair and flawless makeup. Sparrow is just fucking gorgeous, every last goddamn inch of him.

Jesse isn’t ashamed to admit he’s not just nursing beer at Blackwatch, but a fairly vicious crush. Sparrow’s just… good conversation. Good company, and pretty as fuck to boot. He’s easy to talk to, easy to listen to, easy on the eyes. Sparrow sits in Jesse’s lap after he finishes on stage to catch his breath, talking with his hands and laughing at Jesse’s jokes.

It’s harmless. Sparrow doesn’t need to know, and Jesse isn’t going to be weird about it. Jesse smiles and tells Sparrow how hot he looks and tips well enough that he knows he’s Sparrow’s favorite customer by far. He’s polite as always when Sparrow dances for him, though he is more familiar.

When they’re in a private room together, Sparrow guides Jesse’s hands to his ass. Makes breathy little noises when Jesse digs his fingers into the meat of Sparrow’s thighs. He presses closed mouth kisses to Jesse’s jaw, or the fabric of his jeans, and they both pretend it doesn’t matter how hard they are in their clothes.

It’s a night like any other at Blackwatch when Sparrow finishes up his second private dance, straddling Jesse’s lap for a moment to catch his breath while Jesse pulls out his wallet. There are several crisp bills, and he hands them over without regret. Sparrow doesn’t bother counting them— Jesse is good for it. 

There is also a coupon for a free pizza at an all-night diner near the club. The place is kind of a hole in the wall, but the food is excellent, and everyone has to eat. Jesse used to give Sombra coupons he came across for her favorite fast food places, or any of the twenty-four-hour restaurants near the club she worked at. She took them eagerly, and when Jesse went too long without bringing her any, she complained.

Jesse passes it over with a crooked smile; hopefully he can pass it off as a joke if Sparrow thinks it’s strange. He takes it, brows furrowing as he reads the small print in the dim light of the room. He glances at Jesse. Back at the coupon. At Jesse again, his unfathomable expression shifting into something amused.

“So when are we going?” Sparrow asks, and Jesse’s brows shoot up.

“Uh— I mean. I… don’t know?” He hadn’t meant to ask Sparrow out on a date— that always seemed like a good way to go from ‘good client’ to ‘dangerous stalker’ in his book— but if  _ Sparrow  _ was asking, he wasn’t going to say no. “Whenever you like, doll face. You tell me.”

Sparrow bites his bottom lip, looking  _ shy  _ of all things, but it passes quickly. 

“I get off at 3. If you’re gonna be around then.”

“I will be now,” Jesse says without thinking. Sparrow tucks the coupon away in his bucket with all his cash and grins impossibly wider.

“I’ll meet you out front.”

Then Sparrow is gone, leaving Jesse to stagger up to his feet and rearrange his hard-on so it’s less noticeable in his jeans before he heads back out into the club to wait.

-

Jesse is outside smoking when Sparrow finds him at ten past three.

_ I’m Genji, by the way. _

Jesse knew ‘Sparrow’ wasn’t his real name, but he hadn’t expected to be explicitly told otherwise. Genji suits him better. He smiles when Jesse says it, something wry but indulgent.

They end up sitting across from each other in a booth with bright red seats and a chrome accented table. At first glance it doesn’t look like somewhere anyone would want to eat, but the locals know better, and even in the early hours of the morning there are a handful of customers scattered around the place. The decor is some caricature of the fifties, paintings of classic cars and stylized pictures of girls in poodle skirts. There’s a jukebox lined in vivid neon lights with nothing to offer but Elvis songs and the soundtrack to _American_ _Graffiti._

Genji is still in his dancing clothes, an old threadbare white t-shirt about four sizes too big pulled over the top, long enough that it hits him high on his thighs. The black straps of his lingerie are clearly visible through the thin fabric. The collar hangs off one shoulder; Genji doesn’t bother pulling in place again. It must have been something he found laying around backstage in lieu of changing back into his own clothes.

He must have finished dancing, grabbed his backpack, and headed straight outside,  _ didn’t want to keep you waiting. _

His boots are gone, replaced with a pair of worn black and green sneakers that should look out of place with the rest of his clothes but don’t, somehow. Genji had headed up to the counter and ordered for them, offering up his free pizza coupon and pulling a wad of wrinkled ones out of his bag to cover the cost of a couple of sodas before Jesse could protest.

Now there’s a half-eaten meat lovers pizza on the table between them, Genji with a piece in hand, cheese stretching from the slice to his mouth as he takes a bite. It’s his third slice, and there’s grease all over his fingers, and a little on his mouth. The fluorescent lights are harsh and unflattering. His makeup is doggedly still in place, except for some of his eyeshadow, which has smeared throughout the night to leave his face shimmering here and there. Jesse had watched him run his fingers through his tangled hair after stepping outside the club, but it hadn’t done anything to tame the wild strands. For all intents and purposes, he is a fucking mess.

Jesse can’t stop staring. He’s only taken a few bites of pizza, distracted by Genji’s lingerie showing through that worthless t-shirt, and the way he keeps licking sauce off his fingers and making obscene noises of appreciation as he eats. They haven’t been talking much, mostly because Genji is inhaling the pizza like he’s starving to death.

“I never ate here because it looks like you’d catch fucking malaria just touching the door handle but this is so good,” Genji says around a mouthful of food, wiping at the corner of his mouth with his knuckles.

“Uh huh,” Jesse says, trying and failing not to follow the lines of Genji’s bra where it disappears down into his shirt. He blinks and shakes his head, unbuttoning his own shirt and tugging it off, left in only his own black t-shirt. “Here, ain’t you cold? Put this on.”

Genji takes it with a look of confusion, head cocked to the side as he finishes his slice of pizza. He doesn’t eat the crust. 

“You don’t… I’m fine? It’s not that cold in here.” He tries to offer it back to Jesse, who shakes his head.

“No I uh… I insist,” he says, eyes roving over the curve of Genji’s shoulder, Genji’s pretty lace bra, Genji’s exposed collarbones. 

Genji huffs a laugh, smirking as he pulls Jesse’s shirt on and works the buttons. Jesse is painfully transparent.

“Okay,” Genji says, putting one elbow on the table and resting his chin in his palm. The sleeves are so long they cover most of his hand, leaving only the tips of his fingers exposed. His eyes glitter. He’s got a dimple in one cheek. “Better?” 

It’s really, really not. Jesse hadn’t considered that Genji wearing his clothes would be even more distracting, but now he’s sitting there in Jesse’s blue plaid flannel, looking warm and soft and amused. 

“Not at all,” Jesse says, flustered and feeling stupid, but he can’t help himself. “Still too pretty.”

Genji rolls his eyes but he can’t hide the pink in his cheeks.

They finish off their pizza and order another, sitting together in the booth devouring it together. Genji makes fun of Jesse for asking him out, and Jesse argues it was actually Genji who did the asking, and they eat and tease each other until the sun is threatening to rise. He doesn’t offer Genji a ride because it sounds creepy in his head, but he does offer to pay for an Uber. Genji declines, insisting he doesn’t live far, and that his roommate will be waiting up for him.

They stand in front of the restaurant with the city starting to come to life around them, sharing a cigarette. Jesse’s shirt is shorter than the t-shirt Genji has on underneath it, both of them still barely covering his ass. His fishnets are torn, a ragged hole on the right thigh that Jesse thinks he might have put there by accident. When the cigarette is gone Genji digs in his bag and shoves a piece of gum into his mouth, something so saccharine that Jesse can almost taste it himself. Jesse asks if he can give Genji his number, scratching at the back of his head and trying to look at his feet.

_ Sure thing,  _ he says, tapping Jesse’s number into his phone. Jesse wonders for a moment if he only took it out of politeness, but then a message comes through from him.

_ See you later, handsome. _

Genji grins and leaves without another word, glancing over his shoulder at Jesse, blowing a bright pink bubble larger and larger until it pops. He’s still wearing Jesse’s shirt. 

Jesse has a feeling he’s never getting it back.

He thinks about Genji wearing it, back in his apartment after he’s washed the makeup of his face and tucked himself into bed, and doesn’t mind at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me nice things, here or on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/scifictioness?lang=en)


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